My Body Likes It When I Listen.
I know how I have cried, and cursed this body. I know how, when I got my period for the first time, I shut myself in a room and cried, saying "I hate this!"
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measurement
Please Don’t Try To Fix Me.
And in the process of waiting, I vow to never cease stirring the pot of questions. To let the flight of ideas and the whirl of ponders melt away my skin. Fleshy enclave of a beating heart made of questions, not answers. Love, not certainty. Life, not fear. Feeling over growth. Faith over ...